I Don't Know Any French Girls (So I'm Painting You)
by DeathandJunkfood
Summary: "Whenever I try to draw you," Scorpius said, slower and quieter than before, "It's like I'm killing you, a little bit. Like I'm trapping you in a cage. I dunno – it's ridiculous – but that's why it never quite turns out right. That's why you look like – that." In which Scorpius tries to draw Albus, Albus is supportive, and they're both dorks in love.


_**A.N. For the Houses Competition. House: Slytherin, Prompt type: Theme, Prompt: 'Drawing' This is my very first time writing Scorpius and Albus, so my apologizes if it's OOC. Still finding my groove when it comes to these two.**_

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 _ **Disclaimer... these characters belong to JKR  
**_

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"I didn't know you could draw,"

Scorpius winced when he heard the words, curling over the sheet of paper almost protectively.

"Is it a secret?" Albus' voice was almost amused, and Scorpius uncurled, sheepishly.

"Sorry. No, not really. Well maybe a little. Not from you though – not much. We don't keep secrets – but – um. Maybe a little secret? Er – I used to get teased about it, quite a lot. Habit."

"People used to tease me about my stamp collection."

"That's because stamp collecting is fucking dorky."

"Rude."

Scorpius looked down at the sketch in his lap and sighed. It was meant to be Albus. It never came out quite right. Maybe because Albus was so seldom still – because he was always a swirl of movement, of emotion, of life. He wasn't what one would call static.

"It's good," Albus continued, leaning over his shoulder and resting his chin in the crook of Scorpius' neck. "My hair's a little messier though."

"You never come out right," Scorpius blurted, and dropped his pencil, flustered, when he realized how that must sound.

"Thanks," Albus said dryly, picking up his pencil and handing it back.

The lead had broken.

"No – I mean, it's not you. You're perfect. I mean, lovely. You're lovely. Wonderful to draw-"

"Scorpius. Breathe."

"Sorry."

Albus took the pencil back and sharpened it with his wand before handing it to Scorpius. A second Albus stared back out of the page, eyes a little too sharp, smile a little bit crooked. There was something untouchable about the pencil and paper Albus that unsettled Scorpius. The real Albus wasn't like that. The real Albus was warm and pliant and laughing.

"Whenever I try to draw you," Scorpius said, slower and quieter than before, "It's like I'm killing you, a little bit. Like I'm trapping you in a cage. I dunno – it's ridiculous – but that's why it never quite turns out right. That's why you look like – that."

"I look cold," Albus said softly.

It was a sunny day, but there was enough wind off of the lake that there was a bite to the air. Scorpius shivered. Maybe the reason he didn't like the drawing of Albus was because he looked like the Albus of two years ago. When he was bitter and angry all the time.

Not to Scorpius, though. Never to Scorpius. But he was bitter and angry to others, and Scorpius had felt the harsh burn of it against the back of his throat every time Albus smiled at him, like cheap Firewhiskey.

"I know what it is," Albus said, starting to smile a bit. He let his finger drift over the page, one arm around Scorpius' back. He was warm, scorching, almost, and Scorpius tipped his head back.

"What is it?"

"It's a reminder."

"Of what?"

"Of how lucky I am."

"Yeah?"

They were quiet for a moment, watching the ripples of wind cross the lake. It looked like crumpled silk, all broken and lovely.

"It's a reminder," Albus continued, "Of how sad I was, and how mad, and how wonderful you were and are to stay with me through it all."

"I am fairly wonderful," Scorpius acknowledged graciously, and Albus laughed, and suddenly the drawing didn't look so cold anymore, like the real Albus' warm laughed had thawed it.

Albus flung himself down on the lakeshore beside Scorpius, lifting a hand to his forehead dramatically.

"Paint me like one of your French girls," he said.

Scorpius furrowed his brow. "I left my paints up at the castles – and what d'you mean? The only French girls I know are Dom and Vic, and they're only half French-"

"It's a reference," Albus said, exasperated. "Merlin, we're just going to have to spend all summer watching films, aren't we?"

Scorpius started to smile. He liked films. He liked the dark rooms that they came in and the popcorn that tasted better with them, and the fact that Albus would hold his hand and kiss him breathless in the dusty silence that sometimes accompanied them.

"That doesn't sound too bad," he allowed.

He picked his pencil back up and set it on the page, adding a few more lines, shading a little more, making a few things sparkle.

"This is a good secret," Albus decided. "There aren't many good secrets, but this one is. I love learning new things about you."

Scorpius blushed a bit, ducking his head. Albus still made him feel shivery and embarrassed, even after all these years.

"I love you," he whispered, smiling against Albus' shoulder.

"Love you too."

The two of them gazed down at the drawing in Scorpius' lap. It was subtly different. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes, and his smile was fondly crooked, rather than cynical. And his hair was definitely messier.

"He's quite handsome," Albus said happily.

"'course he is. It's you, isn't it?"

The wind coming off of the shattered surface of the lake was still cold, but Scorpius was suddenly warm inside. Some secrets, he decided, were only meant for two.

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 _ **A.N. Yeah, I know the proper quote is 'Draw me'. I'm sorry for butchering that iconic line. Thanks for reading!**_


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